


GMT+2

by torigates



Series: Slide to Answer [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 17:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10903842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torigates/pseuds/torigates
Summary: 05:55The clocks in Europe were on twenty-four hour time, but five to six in the morning didn’t exactly need translating.





	GMT+2

The buzzing of his phone on the bedside table woke Mitch. He groaned softly, rolling over onto his side and reaching for the phone at the same time. 

The red numbers of the clock were bright in the dark room, and it took Mitch a moment to actually read them. 

_05:55_

The clocks in Europe were on twenty-four hour time, but five to six in the morning didn’t exactly need translating. 

His phone was still buzzing. 

He turned it over on the table, Dylan’s face lighting up the LED screen. Beside him Killorn snorted and rolled over. Their beds were pushed close together because Europe was strange and different, and Mitch didn’t really get it. Although he didn’t exactly mind being close to his teammate either. 

His hands moved slowly as he swiped to accept Dylan’s call, body still half-asleep. “‘lo?” he murmured quietly. 

There was a lot of noise in the background, and Mitch had to pull the phone away from his face. His heart was beating suddenly a lot faster, adrenaline coursing through him making him wide awake. 

Slowly, he put the phone back to his ear. “Dylan?” he said quietly. 

There was music, and a lot of different voices yelling and screaming and singing. Mitch couldn’t make out what any of them were saying. “Dyl?” he tried again. 

A loud “Woooooo!” could be heard in the background and then Dylan’s voice cursing and laughing but obviously talking to someone else. Mitch was about to hang up. He would tease Dylan later about the obvious butt-dial. 

“Marns! Where the fuck-- _Marns!_ ” 

Mitch put the phone back against his face. Killorn groaned next to him, and Mitch climbed out of bed, making his way to the bathroom before he woke up and yelled at Mitch for getting him up before their alarm on game day. 

When he was safely behind closed doors, he tried speaking at a more normal volume. “Dylan, hello? Hey, bud, you there?” 

“Yes!” Dylan’s voice came through loud and clear. He sounded happy and drunk, and there was still so much yelling and celebrating going on in the background. The Otters had done it, then. “Fucking finally, Marns!” 

“Hey,” Mitch said, not sure if Dylan was talking about Mitch answering the phone or the team winning. He decided to go with the latter. “Congrats.” 

Dylan let out a loud cheer, and then said a few muffled words, obviously meant for someone in the room with him and not for Mitch. 

Mitch listened happily for a moment, remembering what it was like to be where Dylan was now. OHL champs. He knew how great that feeling was, how amazing it felt to win and be surrounded by all his teammates and just be full love and happiness. 

Dylan deserved that. 

“Miiiiiitch.” Dylan’s voice loud and clear again. “Hi, hi, hello. Are you there?” 

“I’m here, babe,” Mitch said. He remembered that feeling too. Everyone wanting to talk to him, and Mitch wanting to talk to them all at once. His boys, his family, Dylan, everyone. It was important they knew how much he loved them. He imagined Dylan was feeling the same way, and he could easily imagine Dylan surrounded by everyone, stopping to say hello, or give a hug or high five, or do a shot, or just scream in someone’s face from the pure joy of winning. “Congrats. You did it.” 

“We did it!” Dylan screamed. “Fucking champs, baby. Fucking beauties!” 

Mitch laughed. “Yeah, you are. Hey, you better get back to the party. I bet your team is missing you.” 

“No,” Dylan said. “No, no, no, no, Marns, _don’t go_.” The last bit came out sharp and high

Mitch paused. “I miss you too, buddy,” he said, more serious than seemed appropriate for the situation. 

“Mitch,” Dylan said. 

“Yes?” 

“We won.” 

“You did.” 

“I won something.” 

“I know, bud,” Mitch said, laughing now. Dylan was really drunk. 

“I didn’t think I would,” he continued. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I never win. Not good enough.” 

The laughter died on Mitch’s lips. “What are you talking about?” 

“Lost World Juniors, twice. Couldn’t make the NHL…” 

“Dylan…” Mitch said. 

They had talked about this before, kind of. Dylan mostly talked around it, or hinted at it, but every time Mitch tried to get him to open up he’d change the subject. At the time, Mitch didn’t know how to push and he still didn’t. 

“But now I _won_. Gonna go all the way.” 

“You will,” Mitch said. “But you know even if you don’t--” 

“We _will_.” 

“I know,” Mitch said. “But even if you don’t, you’re still amazing. You’re still a great hockey player. Still an amazing person.” 

Dylan laughed, and it didn’t sound forced or strained. Mitch didn’t realise how long it had been since he’d heard Dylan’s unbridled happiness. “You like me,” he said. 

“I do,” Mitch agreed. “Even when you’re drunk.” 

“ _Especially_ when I’m drunk.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Because.” Dylan sounded smug and so sure of himself. It sent a pang of something close to nostalgia through Mitch. He sounded like the old Dylan, Mitch realised. The one who used to chirp Mitch endlessly, that always saw through Mitch’s bravado, and never let him get away with any of his shit. 

The Dylan Mitch fell in love with. 

Dylan pushed Mitch, and Mitch pushed Dylan. Maybe Mitch had fallen down on the job this year, caught up in his own life and scared of rubbing his accomplishments in Dylan’s face. It wasn’t that he thought that Dylan wouldn’t or couldn’t get to the NHL, because he absolutely would, but Mitch didn’t know how to navigate this in between place where they were now. 

“Okay, bud. Whatever you say.” Now wasn’t the time to talk about these things. Even if Dylan hadn’t been smashed out of his mind, Mitch wanted him to enjoy his victory. There would be time for all their relationship crap once they were both on the same continent. 

“I do say.”

He sounded happy and sure of himself, and Mitch wanted that for him more than anything else. “Do you want to get back to your team?” 

“Why are you trying to get rid of me?” 

“I’m not,” Mitch said. 

“You keep telling me to go to my team but I want to talk to _you_.”

Mitch blinked. There was a sudden lump of emotion in his throat, and he swallowed it down. Things had been… if not good between them, then at least fine, but Mitch couldn’t deny that there had been a layer of tension running through every conversation they had since Mitch had made the Leafs and Dylan had been sent back to Erie. 

“You know I always want to talk to you too,” Mitch said. 

“Good,” Dylan said happily. 

“Tell me about the game,” Mitch said. 

Dylan did, rambling drunkenly about Raddysh’s hat trick, the overtime goal, and the rest of the game highlights. “Feel bad for Mikey,” he said as he wound down. He paused. “Not too bad. I wanted this, Marns. Wanted it real bad.” 

“Yeah,” Mitch said. “I know. You deserved it, Dyls. Really.” Dylan hummed quietly on the other side of the line, which made Mitch realise most of the background noise had disappeared. Dylan must have gone somewhere away from the party. Maybe Mitch should feel bad about that, should encourage Dylan to go back to his team and soak in the win. But Dylan said he wanted Mitch, and well, Mitch wanted Dylan too. “You never know,” he said. “Maybe he’ll get another chance.” 

“Maybe,” Dylan agreed. 

They lapsed into silence. “What time is it at home?” Mitch asked. 

“Just after midnight,” Dylan said. “Oh shit, is it super late for you?” 

“Super early,” Mitch said. “Just after six.” 

“Ah,” Dylan said. “Sorry for waking you.” 

Mitch shrugged. “It’s cool. Wish I could be there celebrating with you.” 

“Wish I could be there cheering you on,” Dylan said. 

“Maybe we’ll get a chance to play at World’s together someday,” Mitch said. 

“Maybe,” Dylan agreed. 

“I miss you,” Mitch said. There was a lot loaded in that statement. They hadn’t really had a chance to see each other all season. Between Dylan starting out in Arizona and then being sent back to Erie before their teams played each other, geography hadn’t been on their side. 

They saw each other briefly at new year’s, but it wasn’t exactly what Mitch would call quality time. They were both focused on their game, and that had been the case every time the Otters came to the GTA over the season. But it was more than that too. There had been a distance between them that Mitch hadn’t known how to bridge, no matter how much he’d wanted to. 

Half the time they talked Mitch had spent worrying Dylan was about to break up with him, and the other half was split between being tense and awkward, or sexually fraught. Mitch had a good year with the Leafs. He loved his new teammates, and everything about being in the NHL, but the way things were with Dylan--that feeling of always not quite right--was always in the back of his head. 

“Miss you too,” Dylan said. “When this is all over, the Mem Cup, World’s, everything, let’s you and me do something.” 

“Like what?” Mitch asked. 

“I dunno,” Dylan said. “Road trip? Sleepover? We’ll think of something. Just you and me.” 

“Yeah,” Mitch said. “Okay, you and me.” 

“It’s a date,” Dylan told him. 

They were quiet again. Mitch could hear Dylan breathing, could hear the faint noises from the party that must be going on somewhere. Mitch wanted nothing more than to be able to hold Dylan then, and be held. Wanted it to be just the two of them, like Dylan promised, before they had to go out and face the realities of the world again. 

He could wait that long, he thought. Maybe. 

“Okay,” Mitch said. “I’m sure your team wants their captain back. Get back out there. Do an extra shot for me.” 

Dylan laughed. “Okay, I can do that.” 

“And tell the boys I say congrats.” 

“I will,” Dylan said. 

“And--” Mitch said. 

“Yeah?” Dylan asked. 

“I love you,” Mitch said. It wasn’t the first time either one of them had said it, but it had been a while since the words were spoken aloud. Mitch didn’t doubt that they still loved each other, but the last year had been transitory and things change. Not his feelings, and he didn’t think Dylan’s had changed either, but just because they loved each other didn’t mean--

Well, it could mean a lot of things. 

“Love you too, Marns,” Dylan said. His voice was low and syrupy with alcohol, but just as familiar as ever. Mitch wished so badly they could be together. “So much.” 

Mitch blinked through the well of emotion. “Okay,” he said. “See you soon, Stromer.” 

“Bye,” Dylan said and hung up. 

Mitch spent another moment in the bathroom breathing deeply, before he turned off the light and went back into the main room. He climbed into the single bed, which looked that much better for being pushed up against the other one. 

“Jerkin’ off in there, lil miz?” Killorn’s voice was thick with sleep. Mitch wasn’t even sure he was fully awake. 

“Ha ha,” Mitch said. “Very funny.” 

“That’s not a no,” Killorn said. 

“No, my buddy called. He won the Robertson Cup and he’s celebrating. Forgot the time difference, I guess.” 

“That’s awesome,” Killorn said. 

“Yeah,” Mitch said. “I’m really happy for him.” 

“I bet,” Killorn said. He was already halfway back to sleep. Their alarms weren’t set to go off for another hour or so. “He’ll be happy for you when we win this thing, eh?” 

Mitch smiled. “For sure.” 

“Back to sleep now,” Killorn said. “Game day.” 

“Yeah,” Mitch said. 

“You wanna snuggle?” Killorn asked. 

Mitch thought about Dylan back at home, still celebrating his win. He thought about Dylan’s promise that the two of them would do something when this was all over. He thought about everything they’d been through and the things that were ahead of them. 

“Nah,” he said. “I’m good.”


End file.
